November 13, 2013

Young people remind me of fields of daffodils.

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Like this:

October 22, 2013

There is a subculture amongst children. They pass things down to each other, games, dares, stories. Breughel explored this in some of his paintings. The picture is called Nicky Nicky Nine Doors. Its about knocking on neighbour doors and running before they answer. I do not know the origin of the name.

June 22, 2013

SNOW is part of a series of novels involving an aging police officer in the suburbs of Toronto. In this novel weather plays a key role in the novel. In the previous novels The Hole and H&R (HER) a bottomless well and a asteroid play key roles. There are a couple of short books that have evolved from this. One is about serial killer. But I haven’t gotten my head around that one yet.

…………………….

25. Brothers and Partners

“Did you notice the Chrysler following us?” Michael said as he laid his clothes carefully out in the dresser drawer.

David was playing with the television. He slammed the top of the set with the palm of his hand. “Cable is out! Must be this fucking storm.What Chrysler?”

“The one that was sitting on our ass all the way here.”

“Who would be following us? And what was all that Irish accent stuff in that bar? I felt ridiculous talking like a Mic. And Sean. What kind of name is that?”

“It’s all I could think of at the time,” Michael responded, continuing to lay his clothes in precise rows. “Why’d you call me Michael? The idea was that we wouldn’t use our real names, brother.”

“Well, you could have told me that before we walked into that dump.” David kept pushing the buttons on the remote. “If we have a plan, tell me the fucking plan. And that bar! Zig Zag? What kind of fucking name is that? And the smug look on that bartender’s face. I’d like to wrap his grin around my fist.” David threw the remote against the wall. It smashed into pieces.

Michael turned and looked at the pieces of the remote on the floor. He grinned.

“Fuck!” David roared. “Are we going to be locked up in here all evening with nothing to do? I hate being bored. I don’t know why we couldn’t have stayed downtown where there’s a little action. Out here in the sticks! God! We should have brought that girl back from the Zig Zag. She looked like she was up for a party.”

“She’s old enough to be our mom,” Michael responded.

David got up from in front of the television and walked over to the window. He parted the Venetian blinds and stared out into the snow at the car parked across the street.

“And this weather! I thought we left this shit behind in Russia. Your Chrysler is sitting across the street.”

“What’s he doing?”

David pressed closer to the window. “Nothing. Maybe I should go out and ask him what he wants.”

Michael picked up several pairs of dark blue socks and placed them like napkins in the top drawer. “What if it’s a cop?”

“Why would it be a cop?”

“Why would it be anyone else?” Michael responded. “Right now the cops have nothing on us. Let the fuckers stay out there all night and freeze their balls off.”

“I don’t care if it is the cops, I don’t like to be watched. Never liked it. This is the New World.”

“Stay focused, brother. We’ve got other fish to fry. We’ll check out the other motels on the airport strip. This Lombardo guy has got to be hiding somewhere.”

“You think he’ll be signed in under his own name, Michael?”

“No. But what else can we do? Let’s check around and see if there are any games. Guys like Lombardo are addicted to gambling. Someone must have seen him.”

David looked back from the window. “What are we gong to do about Mazudo?”

“I told you not to play with that cocksucker,” Michael responded.

David returned to the other bed and opened his bag, dumping his clothes into a drawer. “Shit! I had some good dope here. How was I supposed to know that Mazudo was holding a flush?”

Michael shook his head. “Because it was his game, brother.”

“You think he was cheating?”

Michael glanced at his brother’s clothes piled in his dresser drawer. “Look at the mess you’ve made. Why can’t you pack your things away neatly like any normal human being?”

“I had some good dope in here,” David said rummaging through his bag. He laughed. “Here it is.” He took out a lunch bag of dope and papers and started rolling a joint. “So now we have to find this Lombardo prick to pay off our debt to Mazudo. I’m getting tired of doing other people’s laundry.”

“Your debt,” Michael corrected David.

“There is an easier solution to all of this.” David lit up a joint. “Let’s just whack Mazudo. The guy is a slime ball.”

Michael closed the drawer to his dresser. “That’s plan B, brother.” Michael looked at the joint in David’s fingers. “Let me have some of that.”

April 20, 2013

Is blogging becoming… passe. Twitter and texting appear to be becoming the new avenue of info. I’ve always looked at this blog as an alternative to mumbling to myself in the street. I am from a generation that feels more comfortable when ideas etc are written down. That is disappearing as we get older. What’s next.

The twit and the text will not last long either. Change is moving so fast that one feels the only alternative sometimes is to stop, step outside, and listen to the echo of your breathing.

Like this:

April 15, 2013

I wonder. Actually I’d like to stop at the “I”. Not my personal “I” although that is of interest. I mean, why are we awake? And by we, I mean everything that is aware. Where does consciousness come from? And why does it exist if there is a why? All of Hegel’s work is propelled on this one inquiry.

I think back. And at some time after the universe’s stew has been brewing there were objects, chemicals, processes, etc. But no life. And then life appears. Perhaps it is inevitable. And after that at some point dust wakes up. Us appears.

Like this:

April 4, 2013

If you have ever watched a tiger pace in its cage, you know how disconcerting it is. A animal of such magnificence reduced to madness. Or apes that sit in their cubicles and throw their shit around.All madness.

And then there is us. In our offices. Living rooms. Behind our computers.

Why are we so obsessed with sex. Especially the sex lives of the rich and famous. (see Kardashians). Sex is a wonderful gift. (Most of the time.) But it is not a career.

I think we are a civilization in a state of boredom. We are preoccupied with our personal bodily functions. Like monkeys in a lab. Like dogs on a chain.